Creatures Of The Night
I stand, and I stare,
Seeing things that aren't there:
Translucent figures that writhe and twist,
Creatures that surely don't exist.
A high-pitched shriek cuts through the night,
Planting, in my soul, a seed of fright.
A clawed black hand points to me,
Inches away, it hovers threateningly.
Bit by bit, the hand closes in,
As the world begins to slowly spin.
I close my eyes and cower in fear,
But when I open them again, the creatures aren't there.
Instead, what I see is the insubstantial form of a man,
Offering me his transparent hand.
I reach for it but it is thin air I now hold,
As the stranger before me says, "My name is Reynolds."